


you and me, like lock and key

by aimerai



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Dialogue Heavy, Idiots in Love, Illness, M/M, Magical Bond, Magical Surgery, Miscommunication, Non-Linear Narrative, Quebec Major Junior Hockey League, Semi-Sentient Magic, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-24 11:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimerai/pseuds/aimerai
Summary: "You're the rest of my life. I don't--I couldn't ever do anything else.""What did I do to deserve you?""Isn't the point of it all that we deserve each other?"Or: Québec works in binding magic.Or: the story of the bond between a boy who can't hide anything and a boy trying to hide everything.





	you and me, like lock and key

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: if you or anyone you know is mentioned in this fic, just click away now and save us both the embarrassment.
> 
> This one is for steph and her primer and the two other people who wanted it. 
> 
> This is unbeta-ed, so please tell me if you see any mistakes. Also, if anything hasn't been tagged and should be tagged, please let me know.  
> (i rewrote every section of this at least ten times, if i look at it again i'll cry so i'm releasing it into the wild)  
> Also: assume most conversations are happening in French. The only conversations in English are the ones with Mattie and associated crew honestly.

When he comes home that summer, his mother needs only one look to know what he's done. Well, in a matter of speaking. 

"What's this? What have you done?" She's trying to make her voice sound controlled, but there's something frantic in it, something like the way a trapped bird's wings flutter. 

He swallows and lies. It's a little true but mostly false, but he doesn't want to see how she'd react to the truth. She already has such strong feelings about how he uses his magic. "Pack magic. D-men pack magic."

Her eyes glitter like diamonds for a moment, cold, unforgiving rock, and then soften again. "Québec has its hands all over you, now."

Phil shrugs, keeps his body loose and his shoulders relaxed. "New Brunswick magic is prickly. It'll stick."

"It won't be the same," she says, but she strokes his cheek, a still-comforting wash of magic following.

Phil smiles for her, but he's not sure he wants to. He wants to go hide under the covers in his room with the curtains drawn, stay there until he stops feeling like he's going to vomit. "No, but neither am I."

His mother's smile is a little sad. "No, neither are you. Tell me more about the other d-men, hm? How was your year?"

Phil smiles and tells her about them, even Jér, but finds himself leaving off parts of his stories. His mother doesn't need to know everything. His mother doesn't need to know much about Jér at all. In fact, the less she knows about him, the better, probably. She smiles at all the appropriate parts as he tells her about the pack, but there's a gulf separating them. He's never really lied or kept things from her, but he's a legal adult now, capable of his own decisions. This isn't something she needs to know, nor is it something she has a right to know. 

Somehow, it still feels wrong.

It sets the tone for the whole summer, leaving Phil feeling wrong-footed. His father never asks Phil about anything, even if he suspects something, but magic has never played a huge part in his father's life, not in the way it has for his mother. His friends already know about his reluctance towards magic, and are more than familiar with the aura that clings to him, of Québec and Rouyn-Noranda and the pack. So they don't ask, and they don't know. Phil and his mother have always been a little distant about magic, and this summer, it's worse than usual. Maybe Phil is projecting, but it feels like she watches him more than she usually does, hawk-eyed. It feels like she can make him reveal the bond if she stares hard enough, even though she doesn't know about its existence. Phil is relieved when it's time for camp, relieved to be on the ice and skating post-surgery, but also relieved to leave his mother's scrutiny. He loves her, but they disagree about magic and likely always will.

* * *

The magic in Québec has always been a little different. It was sacred land for the tribes who were there before the settlers, and when the traders came, it became the heart of the community. They worked together, so Québec's magic blended over time, the old, the new, and over it all, community and togetherness and the idea of exchange. The heart of Québec bleeds magic connected to the land and the language, and every day Phil is grateful that he plays hockey here. 

His mother, halfway through his first season in Rouyn-Noranda, teaches him to pool his magic so he can see where Québec is latching onto him. She smiles, a little tired and worn at the edges. Phil is surprised to realise that she's getting old, but that's what happens when you don't see people for months. 

She speaks to him in a French his teammates make fun of him for. "The land recognizes its own, and that which it sees as its own. You are French, so Québec takes you. You are from New Brunswick, so Québec takes you, but you must be careful that it doesn't take too much."

"What does that mean?" Phil asks. Everyone knows about Q magic, but there's a difference between that and Québec's magic. The Q teams that play in Québec and the Q teams that play outside of it are different enough because of that distinction. 

"It means that it's a strong magic," she says, gently running her hands through his magic, avoiding any of the snarls or tangles, the places where his magic naturally whorls and eddies. "It's a foundational magic. Solid, like the land it is anchored in. And it clings very quickly if it thinks you belong. Binding magics are so very strong in Québec. You will carry your team's magic for the rest of your life, even if you don't return this season. But you will return, and your team will, so it'll be stronger yet. If you give it an inch, Phil, it'll take a mile. It already thinks you belong. You cannot let it overpower you."

She sounds very fierce, all of a sudden, and Phil tries to assuage her worries as best he can. "I won't, Maman. I know who I am."

* * *

Phil is excited to be back in Rouyn-Noranda. A little disappointed, too, but not surprised, considering that he'd just had surgery. He would have liked to have made it up this year, but he's grateful to have another year skating with the pack. Jér is waiting for him at his billet's, eyes crinkled and smiling. He's the best thing Phil's seen all day, but even if it's just his billet, Phil doesn't want to do this where everyone can see him, so he heads up the stairs. He puts down his bag, and turns to where Jér is standing just inside his doorway, hands partially tucked in his pockets, and reaches out to hug him, hard enough that he can pretend that they're one person. 

Jér hugs back just as tight, crushing Phil's ribs a little, and the two of them sway together for a few long moments. Phil's eyes keep catching on the tangle of magic, flavoured vaguely like New Brunswick, that is now a part of Jér. Everyone can see that little tangle on Jér, a reminder that Phil has Jér in a way few others ever will. He's proud of it, proud of being connected on an intrinsic level, deeper than Québec, deeper than Rouyn-Noranda, deeper than pack. No one can see the matching soft, steady glow of Jér on Phil unless Phil uses his magic, but Phil's never been one to use much magic. To this day, outside of team magics, it's only Jér who has seen the full extent of Phil's tangled, messy magic. But it's there, Phil on Jér and Jér on Phil, and that's what really matters. They'll have each other in ways no one else does for the rest of forever, and that lights Phil up from the inside out.

Phil exhales, melting a little more into the hug, and it feels like a weight is lifted off his shoulders. It's really, really good to see Jér; Phil's missed him more than he thought he had. Jér squeezes a little tighter, the two of them so close that when he speaks, it's into Phil's skin. "Selfish as it is, I'm really glad you're back here."

"Stupid as it may sound, I'm really glad to be back here with you," Phil whispers into the side of Jér's head. A damning truth for a damning truth; this is a relationship built on equality, after all.

Finally, Jér puts a bit of distance between them, to look up at Phil, but they're still standing close enough to share breath. "It's good to see you again. You look good."

"Yeah, you too," Phil says, mouth suddenly dry. He's too aware of how easy it would be to kiss Jér when they're standing this close.

Jér smiles, blindingly bright, and Phil is reminded, again, that he's kinda fucked. That bonding with Jér when he has so many feelings may not have been the best idea. But Jér had been the one asking, and Phil hadn't had enough self-control to say no when it was for something that he'd also desperately wanted. How could he have said no to Jér, when his eyes were lit up and fierce, when he was at his most alive? Jér's voice had cracked with emotion when he had asked, and how could Phil have denied him? The answer is that Phil couldn't, and that the ensuing bond broke down his resolve and ability to say no to Jér even more. It's okay--Phil is well-aware of how pathetic he is. But if Phil has to have one person who he can't say no to, Jér is a good option, responsible and driven and so, so good.

"What do you want to do?" Jér asks, rocking slightly on his heels. 

"Tell me what the boys have been up to, or about the rookies. I'm kinda exhausted," Phil says. "Not up to doing much, but I wanted to spend time with you."

Jér smiles again, and Phil could easily spend the rest of his life trying to coax these kinds of smiles from Jér, the kind the media rarely get. The true, focused smiles, the ones where you feel like the center of Jér's attention, where the world could fall apart around you but you wouldn't notice, caught in the mind-melting sweetness of a true Jérémy Lauzon smile. "You're going to fall asleep on me, aren't you?"

Phil tries not to flush and probably fails, judging from the amusement on Jér's face. Still, Jér settles himself against Phil's headboard and pats the spot next to his hip. "C'mon. Let me tell you what Forts has been up to, hm?"

Jér drops a hand into Phil's hair when Phil flops onto the bed, like it's easy as anything. This isn't how they are; this isn't how they've been, but the bond changed things, of course. Phil settles more firmly, tucks his face into Jér's hip, and lets his soft voice and familiar French vowels wash over him. 

* * *

Phil, his first year in the Q, is surprised to find that he can see Jérémy's magic. He can't see it in the rink, where there's general warding built in to render a lot of magic unusable, but it's visible most other places. He can't usually see his teammates'--or anyone's--magic unless they use it, but Jérémy's is solid magic, magic like the heart of Québec, foundational magic. It matches the strength that Jérémy has, and it sits with a soft glow, like his personality. Phil keeps an eye on Jérémy a lot. He likes to see his magic, strong like Québec. He likes the taste of Québec's steady magic in general, so different from that of New Brunswick, where the magic is tenuous and prickly and complicated, set in its own ways. 

He asks about it once on a roadie. "Why can I see your magic?"

Jérémy is tired, half asleep, his voice a drowsy rumble. "Québec magic manifests in odd ways, sometimes. Everyone can see my magic. Same with my youngest siblings. The only person in my family with invisible magic, like everyone else, is Zach. And my father, of course."

"Why is it so open?" Phil asks. "Isn't Québec supposed to have rigid magic? It doesn't match up."

Jérémy sits up suddenly, brings up light in his hand. "Who told you that?"

"My mother," Phil says, confused about what he's said to cause such a strong reaction. 

Jérémy's eyes are fierce, made more so by the way his golden ball of light creates shadows on his face. He reminds Phil of one of those marble statues of Roman gods. "She's wrong. She's completely wrong. Québec has strong magic, foundational magic, but if it were rigid, it would break. Québec has flexible magic--it's foundational because it's binding magic. The solidness in my magic comes from Val d'Or, but it's not really solid like you're thinking. Québec's magic is about give and take and connection. All the magic here comes down to bonds and relationships, and above all, choices."

Phil feels something shift in his head, his perception of this province changing, and wonders why his mother didn't know. Wonders if his mother lied to him on purpose. 

Jérémy continues, his voice softer. "What would you say if someone told you, 'oh, New Brunswick magic is prickly', Phil?"

Phil considers it for a moment. "They're not completely wrong, but it's hardly the whole story. It's the only bilingual province in the country, and there aren't many major cities, and there's a culture clash. It's stubborn magic that you have to coax along, and it reflects the people more than the land, and the people are split into factions."

"There," Jérémy says, sounding sleepy and satisfied, lying back down, extinguishing his light. "Now we've both learned something. What faction of New Brunswick magic are you?"

Phil makes a face at the ceiling. "Maybe I'll show you one day. Go to sleep. Sorry for bothering you." He doesn't like sharing his magic particularly much. It doesn't look like normal magic and hasn't in a long time. His is complicated magic, made so by his mother and father and New Brunswick. 

Jérémy yawns. "No problem. Couldn't have you thinking the wrong thing, not when you're going to be here for at least two more years."

A few moments later, after Jérémy's breaths even out, Phil whispers a thank you into the dark of the room. He thinks he understands why Québec speaks to him now. 

* * *

Zach smirks at him when he comes onto the ice, the kind of smirk that means that he's going to be quietly irritating all day. "Hello, brother-in-law."

Ugh. It's one of those days. Phil doesn't know what it is with Zach, but ever since he found out about the bond, he hasn't shut up with the marriage jokes. Phil has learned, from Zach, that what they did bond-wise is traditional during a true Québec wedding, but that's not its only application, just one of its most common applications. There's different levels of it, of course. Not only that, but it's also an archaic bit of ceremonial magic, to have a bonding during a wedding. But it was traditional, and unfortunately, that means Zach has free reign to make all sorts of married jokes. The first couple of weeks after finding out, he'd made happy-wife-happy-life jokes until both Jér and Phil had glared him down. He hasn't stopped though, likely never will. Phil's almost grateful he doesn't have a younger brother on these days, except he kinda does, because of the bond.

Phil's response is a narrow-eyed glare at Zach. "Really."

"I heard the most interesting story, this morning," Zach says, the expression on his face becoming even more smug. Moments like these, Phil kinda wants to punch him in the face. Zachary Lauzon is a fucking shit-disturber of the highest degree. Phil's fond of him until he isn't, and right now he's not feeling charitable in the slightest towards Zach.

Phil keeps his voice as even as he can. "Did you, now?"

"Heard you and my brother went out," Zach says. "Heard you wined and dined him."

Phil feels his ears heating up. Jér and him do spend more time together now, and one of the things Jér had suggested was catching up and going out to dinner at least once every two weeks. And Phil wasn't going to say no, because, historically speaking, he's terrible at it. Jér is his own personal kryptonite, dark eyes and pink flush and soft everything. So, yes, they had gone to dinner yesterday, and it had been really nice, the two of them at a small table, knees bumping together under the table, laughing and talking and enjoying each other's company. Phil made Jér laugh so hard that he'd thrown his head back, loose enough to forget about the scar on his neck. Phil's gut had twisted with want at the sight of a happy Jér that felt safe enough to be vulnerable, but he's had more than enough practice pushing it down.

"So what if I did?" Phil challenges.

"Just wanted to make sure you were treating him right," Zach chirps. "It was date night, right? I fell asleep waiting up for Jér, so I was curious. Did he stay over?"

Phil tries not to blush, but he does anyway. Jér unintentionally fell asleep at Phil's billet, and Phil got to wake up to a tousle-haired, heavy-lidded Jér in his bed. Sleep-warm, Jér had snuggled in closer when Phil's alarm had gone off, mumbling something about turning it off. Phil had put it on snooze for five minutes, to enjoy the sensation of Jér in his bed, clingier than an octopus in the best possible way.

Zach interprets Phil's too-long silence and blush as confirmation, because he grins knowingly. "Oh, I see how it is."

"Don't say anything," Phil warns.

Zach opens his mouth again, unfortunately. "Still in the honeymoon period, I see. At least you're being a good husband, fulfilling your duties and all."

Phil's traitorous heart lurches in his chest. His feelings are a little more than a little out of control, and he doesn't have a response prepared. Thankfully, Coach calls him at that moment, and Phil makes a face at Zach before skating away. He doesn't have a problem with Zach calling him Jér's husband just because they're bonded. Well, he does have a problem: the problem being that he likes it and he's not. The other problem being that Zach is a little shit. He knows that it gets to Phil, uses it all the time because he knows he'll get a rise out of Phil. And the thing is, teasing aside, Zach Lauzon is a good guy, but Phil doesn't even want to consider the awkwardness of telling him, 'please stop calling me your brother's husband because I'd actually like to be.' It's awkward and cringe-worthy for all parties involved when he imagines that conversation in his head. He can't imagine that it would be much better in real life. Now there's a thought to give him nightmares. 

* * *

Jérémy's eyes are fierce and bright, his magic solid and steady, bolstering, and he's laughing breathlessly. He's one of the most beautiful sights Phil has ever seen, flushed with victory. "C'mon Phil, together, together, for the pack." 

It's been a constant litany of similar nonsense for the last few minutes, but Phil wants it, the desire strong like a hard check, leaving him breathless and disoriented. It's a bigger rush than winning, having all of Jér's attention on him. And the thing that Jér is suggesting is a little bit mad, but Jér's responsible enough. He wouldn't have suggested it if he didn't know what he was doing, and Phil trusts him. 

"Please," Jérémy says, his voice cracking, but his eyes still burning brightly. Phil couldn't look away even if he wanted to.

"Yes, of course, yes," Phil says, swept up in Jér's euphoria, decision made the moment Jér opened his mouth.

They sneak out from the boys who are celebrating, find themselves a quiet spot where no one's likely to find them for a bit, if anyone even wanders away from the chaos of their celebrating locker room. Jér takes off his shoes and socks, digs his toes into the dirt, and frowns. "I don't know if it's enough. If we were in Val d'Or, it would be enough, but the connection is weaker here."

"So we'll do it skyclad," Phil says, because that's what they do in New Brunswick when the magic doesn't cooperate.

Jér's eyes are lit up by the moon. Phil wants to fall into him forever, have him forever in any way he can, and he will, because Jér wants him too. Maybe not in the same way, but he wants him and it'll be enough for Phil. 

"Skyclad would work," Jér says, after a long thoughtful moment where Phil thought he'd maybe changed his mind. "Let's do it."

Phil takes off his shoes and digs his toes in the dirt, and feels the connection come up much more easily than it does back home. He doesn't know how much you need to do binding magic in Québec when Québec works in binding magic, but as he strips off his clothes, the connection grows stronger, until his body is practically humming with it. They both look pale and long in the moonlight, and when Jér reaches out for him, the potential coming off of them is static in the air, the fine hairs on Phil's body all raised.

* * *

Phil misses Jér so much he can feel it in his teeth, but this is a familiar ache now. Maybe more familiar than hockey aches. He wakes up and texts Jér a simple good morning. They're already written all over each other, so there's no point in pretending that it was just a juniors thing. Him and Jér are forever, and he knows that people can read it on Jér, who's open, but no one can read anything on Phil. No one really knows anything on Phil beyond what they guess based on his background, and what little they can read off of him. It is what it is, and he's never been one to be open. 

He goes through his morning routine on autopilot, receiving Jér's good morning text almost forty five minutes after his own. Jér must have a later practice than he does. His phone buzzes again, and he checks it and smiles a little. Jér's sent him a selfie, still in bed, of most of his face, smiling, eyes crinkled. Phil saves it. 

Phil's in a good enough mood to let the radio play as he drives into practice, but all the stations are slightly fuzzy. It's not enough to be annoying, but it's enough that he notices. He dresses quickly, excited to get through practice. He's planning to call Jér after practice today, if they both have the time. He smiles and jokes around with his teammates, as expected, teasing Claude about being old because he can. 

It's not until he's on the ice that things get a little odd. Phil is trying to focus on drills and on what Coach is saying, but he can't hear over the static, which keeps getting louder, and louder, and louder yet. 

And then nothing. 

* * *

Phil is six years old, waiting with his mother in a doctor's office that doesn't feel like a normal doctor's office. There's an itch between his shoulder blades, and he sits hunched over to feel it less. His mother keeps telling him to sit up straight, but it feels like the hardest thing in the world, feels like something is pressing down on him, and he doesn't understand why his mother can't feel it. The nurse who calls them in has kind eyes, but her smile feels wrong. Phil stays horribly uncomfortable all through the preliminary tests she runs through; he doesn't want her touching him or watching him or near him. He wants to go  _home._

The doctor who comes to see them also has kind eyes, but they're piercing, and it feels like he stares at Phil for too long. He's not very young; he has wrinkles around his eyes, as if he's a man who smiles often. It doesn't matter if he's a man who smiles often when he's also a man who makes Phil intensely uneasy. The feeling in his gut is more powerful than any eye crinkles ever could be. It's all Phil can do to keep from leaning away from the man.

"What's the problem here today?" he asks Phil's mother, ignoring Phil completely. Most doctors at least talk to Phil a little bit, to be polite. Phil can hear his own heartbeat in his ears; why are they still here when all he wants is to go home? 

His mother's face is drawn, lips pressed together. This also makes Phil uncomfortable. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"We'll start by running through a regular battery of tests, then," the doctor says. 

Phil cooperates, even though it's the last thing he wants to do. He runs through the exercises the doctor shows him, watching his vine-like magic adapts to the different things the doctor asks him to do. He likes his magic, for all that his mother's face sometimes gets unreadable when she sees it. The doctor scribbles notes down, making thoughtful noises as he watches Phil go through a series of low-level magics. When he's done, the doctor scans his notes and sighs lightly. 

"Well?" His mother asks. 

The doctor's sigh is heavier this time. "He's easily influenced, to say the least."

"You're joking," his mother says, her face paling.

"I'm afraid not, Madame," the doctor replies.

His mother has furious spots on an otherwise pale face. "Tell me everything."

* * *

Phil wakes up lying down on something that is comfortable enough while an urgent conversation is happening around him. He's probably not supposed to get up. Nothing hurts; if anything, his body is aching a little more than it should, but he doesn't feel injured. Tired, yes, but not injured, and that brings with it a rushing sense of relief. He's had enough of injuries to last him a lifetime. "Hello?" He asks softly.

A face moves into his field of vision. It's Mattie, one of the team's personal magic doctors. Her braids are hanging loose like they usually don't. She's been using her magic, then. "Phil, good to see you're awake," she says, sounding relieved. "What happened?"

"I don't know," he admits. "I was feeling a little weird, but not like I was going to black out. Coach was talking about drills. I kept hearing static. A lot of it. It kept getting louder. Then I woke up here."

Mattie purses her lips. "Not ringing? Static specifically?"

"Yes. Like high-power, high potential magic static feels sometimes," Phil says. Like the way it had felt, that night in Rouyn-Noranda.

Mattie looks grim. "That's almost definitely a magic problem. But how did it get through the arena's wards?"

"I'll leave this to you then?" A voice asks, sounding faraway.

Mattie nods, the golden beads in her hair clicking. "Yes. I'll check in with you, but this looks magical in nature. Find Elena and Alex; have them start checking our wards for gaps and structural weakness. I want to know how something could've gotten through."

She then focuses on Phil. "You've never had magic-related problems in the past?"

Phil quirks his lips. He's going to have to come clean. He looks at the ceiling and not at her. "I'm malleable. 99th percentile, they thought."

Mattie looks surprised, her eyes wide. "You're either very lucky or very unlucky. What are your parents like, magically speaking?"

"Just my mother and she's talented. My father's not particularly magic-inclined, so he works as an anchor or breakpoint," Phil tells her. 

"And you don't use your magic a lot, do you?" Mattie asks. "You weren't in our records." She sounds vaguely accusatory, and Phil doesn't blame her. 

"I carry some personal warding, and I've done two or three advanced magics in Rouyn-Noranda and back home. When I was younger, my mother didn't want me to build a dependency, and then it was so tangled that I didn't want people seeing it if I could help it," Phil says, shamefacedly. 

"Can you call and pool your magic?" Mattie asks, all business now.

Phil calls up his thorny, tangled magic, and Mattie winces upon seeing it. He goes through the motions of pooling it, and Mattie is frowning. "We'll have to do formal tests, but here's what it looks like. You have particularly malleable magic, even ignoring how the Q clings. If not anchored properly, and when your base magic is something as tenuous as New Brunswick magic, those who are malleable run the risk of their magic turning on itself, because it warps. It's magic at war with itself, and if it's attacked itself, then it moves on to attacking the body it belongs to."

"You think that's why I blacked out," Phil says, sure as anything.

"Again, I would need to run some tests to confirm, but I think that's what's happening. And it wouldn't set off the wards at all, because it's your own magic warping, and not malicious intent," Mattie says, her eyes sympathetic. "If it makes you feel better, it's rare that it gets very bad, and it is something we can fix."

* * *

Phil is so tired of these doctor's offices that make his skin crawl, but his mother insists on it. This is one more in a line of so many that they blend together, and he can't tell them apart. They're all going to say the same thing, and they're all going to say it in the most cryptic ways possible. He doesn't know why she still bothers, honestly, but here he is, the second time in seven months. Normally he doesn't mind obliging his mother, but he swears that magic specialists do something because he's never once felt anything but extreme discomfort in their facilities.

His mother smiles at him sympathetically in the waiting room. "I know how much you dislike these trips, but thank you for coming anyway."

Phil doesn't snort. He didn't really have a choice. Well. He did, but it's his mother and it makes her happy. "It's not going to make a difference, Maman," he says, in the most neutral voice possible.

His mother's face falls, but she covers it up with a face blander than his voice had been. "Humour me."

"I am," Phil says, mustering up a smile. His mother looks at him for a long moment, but doesn't say anything.

The nurse who calls them in has an innocuous enough face, but it only serves to make the prickling between Phil's shoulders stronger. He answers the questions on autopilot, kicking his legs slightly. It's always like this. His mother opens her mouth once the nurse leaves, sees the expression on his face, and closes it again. It's enough for her that he agreed to come without kicking up much of a fuss. 

The doctor comes in, and for once, the presence of a specialist puts Phil more at ease. Something about his aura is comforting. He's brusque, shaking Phil's hand and introducing himself as Dr. Fayet, then shaking hands with his mother. After he confirms everything the nurse has said, though, he turns straight to Phil's mother. "Madame, what are you hoping to accomplish?"

"Excuse me?" Phil's mother asks, bewildered.

Dr. Fayet sighs. "Madame, you've been to twenty one specialists in the last eight years, and they've all said variations of  the exact same thing. Your son is malleable, in the top 1%, and it's not going to change. There's nothing we can do to help him, save for teaching him how to manage his magic to reduce the possibility of Philippe contracting some of the complications associated with it."

Phil's mother's voice is brittle. "Run the tests anyway."

The doctor's shoulders lift and fall in the smallest of sighs. He turns to Phil and asks him the questions those twenty one other specialists had asked. Phil feels a lot less mutinous, because he can see frustration in Dr. Fayet's eyes, mirroring his own. He goes through the actions, so familiar that he could probably do them in his sleep. It takes them an hour and a half, Dr. Fayet running more tests than any other doctor that Phil has ever had. Phil likes him anyway, which is a first for him. 

"I've run through every test I know, and they all say the same thing," Dr. Fayet says finally. "We can teach him to manage his mallea--"

"That's enough, thank you," Phil's mother says. "We'll be leaving now."

She marches out, but Phil stays behind a moment. Dr. Fayet looks at him gravely, his brown eyes warm and concerned. "You need to stop letting her do this. It's taking a toll on you, and nothing's going to change. There's nothing wrong with being malleable. The stories, about losing yourself because of your malleability? That's all they are--stories."

Phil smiles at him. "I know."

Dr. Fayet smiles back at him. "I thought you might, but a reminder never hurts. You know where to find me if you ever need help."

"Thank you," Phil says sincerely, before walking out the door.

As he does up his seatbelt, he blurts it out. "I'm not going to another specialist. I know what I am, and you know what I am. It's not going to change, Maman. It's time for you to accept it. That I'm malleable."

His mother purses her lips. "Phil--" She cuts herself off, seeing the expression in his eyes. 

That's the last time they talk plainly about his malleability.

* * *

Mattie's face looks sympathetic. It's her and Alex and Dimitry who are going to straighten his magic out, and unlike flesh-and-blood surgery, they can't give him anaesthetic. All of Mattie's diagnostic tests had come back with red flags all over them, so this is an emergency operation. Mattie had called him in as soon as the diagnostics had settled, taking him out of practice. It's bad enough that they needed a break point, bad enough that Alex, who works as a break point for the arena's complicated layered wards, is working as a break point here, as they untwist the tangles in Phil's magic. Bad enough that what was supposed to be done through a few weeks, gently detangled, has to be done in a few hours.

"I know this is sudden," Mattie says gently. "I'm going to ask you to change, and make any calls you need to. We have to do this in stages, and you'll have checkups for at least a week afterwards, while your magic readjusts. If you're lucky, you'll be back in about three weeks. If you're not, we'll see."

She leaves him with a set of plain looking clothes, but the second he touches them, he realises what they are. There's complicated warding all over them, intended to keep all involved parties safe, while also muting Phil's magic, so it's all together and accounted for. He should probably call Jér and his mother. 

He calls his mother, leaves a perfunctory voicemail. She knows he's malleable, probably knew this would happen. He doesn't understand why she didn't tell him anything, but there's nothing he can do about it now, minutes out from surgery. Tabarnak, it's just hitting him now, that he's been unknowingly hurting himself this entire time. He wonders how many of his injuries from the last couple of years can be explained by his magic turning on him. Has a feeling that most of them probably can. 

He calls Jér, who doesn't pick up. He tries to call Jér three more times, but it's always voicemail. Jér is probably at practice and Phil would really like to talk to him, but that's just not happening right now, so Phil leaves him a voicemail, hopes his voice isn't shaking too noticeably. "Jér, I--uh."

His voice sounds small, so he clears his throat. "I know you're busy, mon beau, but I'm going into surgery. Not the physical kind, but because my magic is doing things it shouldn't and harming my physical health. They don't know how long surgery will be, or anything like that, but they say it'll take them a while. Just wanted to let you know, because I won't be able to call you after practice like we usually do, and so you don't freak out when you see me listed on Injured Reserve. And because the prep for it means that I'm going to be muted for the duration of the surgery. "

And then, because Phil really is freaking out and doesn't care if it's recorded. "I love you."

* * *

Jér and Phil and most of the WJC boys are together for Christmas. There's going to be a lot of alcohol, and cheating on their diets. It's not a terrible plan, but Phil misses New Brunswick Christmases, where ridiculous displays of magic are almost as plentiful as the alcohol. He misses watching his mother and father making displays of technicolour flowers and birds and whatever else strikes their fancies. He's excited to play for Canada, of course, but he wakes up in the morning and it feels like he can feel every kilometer separating him from Moncton, like there's a tether pulled thin and taut at the distance.

Jér lets him mope around for most of the morning, consenting to being used as a very large, very muscled teddy bear while Phil refuses to get out of bed. Eventually, Jér worms his way out, and then pulls the covers off of Phil and the bed, hands on his hips, not upset but definitely concerned. "Why are you sad?"

"You'll laugh," Phil says, voice tiny. It's like a wave of misery washed over him and he absorbed it all, and all he feels is empty and twisted. 

Jér sighs. "Phil. I'm not going to laugh at you. I can feel the sadness radiating off of you, on Christmas of all days, while you're at World Juniors, and I'm worried."

"I miss New Brunswick," Phil admits, turning his face into his pillow so the words come out muffled. "I miss Christmas there more than I thought I would. It's the one night of the year that magic comes easier than most, and we take full advantage of it. Last time I was home for Christmas, we cleared a space and staged a wilderness battle."

Jér is very quiet for a long moment before Phil feels a careful hand on his shoulder. "You thought I'd laugh at you for that?"

"No, I don't know, I just..." Phil pauses, tries to sort through his emotions, and turns so that he's looking at Jér. "I just don't feel great today."

Jér's presses the back of his hand to Phil's forehead. "You're not running a temperature."

"Not sick," Phil says. "Just. Not great."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Jér asks. This is why Phil loves him--he trusts that Phil is telling the truth, and he's worried, but not smothering. 

"What time is it?" Phil shifts a little, sitting up partially.

Jér sits on the side of the bed, facing him, and slides his phone out of his pocket. "Almost noon."

Phil musters up a weak smile. "Aren't you supposed to call your family for Christmas?"

"They'd understand, if it's you," Jér insists.

He's not sure they would, bond and all included. Either way, Phil's not going to let his maudlin behaviour ruin Jér's Christmas. "Hey, no, it's okay. Go FaceTime your parents; I'll be okay."

Jér's biting his lip, looking between Phil and his phone. "I'll be quick, okay?"

Phil reaches out for Jér's hand and looks him in the eyes. "Listen to me. Take your time--it's your family, on Christmas. I'd feel worse if I knew you cut your time with them short because of me, okay?"

Jér's smiling softly, looking at Phil like Phil's given him something priceless. "Yeah, okay. Hold tight. We may not be able to do one of your 'wilderness battles,' whatever those are, but we'll do something comparable, Phil, I promise."

"Okay," Phil agrees, heart in his throat. He really loves this boy, and even though he's pulled tight with longing for Moncton and home, the flood of emotion in his chest at the earnestness in Jér's voice overpowers it, however momentarily.

Jér squeezes Phil's hand. "I promise." He leaves with his laptop and earphones, probably planning to find a quiet lounge so he can Skype or FaceTime or whatever in relative peace. 

* * *

The room they're in has a large circle drawn on the floor, and Phil can see yet more warding there. They're really not taking any chances.

Dimitry sucks air in through his mouth when he sees Phil. "This is going to take time. We may need to call Elena in too."

Alex shakes his head. "I thought you were being a little overdramatic, Mattie, when you said you needed a break point."

Mattie's face is tight, and her hair has already been loosened from the knot it was in at the nape of her neck. "Phil, could you step in the circle, please."

The three of them get Phil arranged to their satisfaction, first doing something in the circle that lets magic pour over him, cool like water. The last thing they ask him to do is to pool his magic, but Dimitry is working something at the same time, so it ends up spread around him like a forcefield, tangled and messy. The three of them stare at it for a while, Alex poking and prodding at certain parts of it. This is the most open Phil has ever been in his life. He doesn't like it, feels too exposed. 

Dimitry holds his eyes. "Phil. This is going to hurt, but you need to stay awake until a certain point, okay?"

"It's like playing through an injury, except in this case, we need you to be awake so we can make sure we're not creating more damage, okay?" Mattie adds on. "Also, judging from how badly tangled this is, you're going to have an adjustment period. Someone's going to have to watch over you until that's over."

"Adjustment period?" Phil asks.

Mattie bites her lip. "It's like you've been working with clogged magical arteries this entire time, so when we clear them, your magic will be more open than it's been in a while. The increased access induces a sort of high, let's call it, until your body adjusts to having that open. We'll take care of it, don't worry. Any other questions?"

"Let's get this over with," Phil says, gritting his teeth. 

At first, it doesn't hurt so much. At first, it feels like a tickle in the marrow of his bones, uncomfortable but manageable. Then something shifts, and it's suddenly a lot more painful, radiating from his bones outwards, and Phil knows that if he were biting his lip it would be bleeding. He can't pass out yet. Not till they say he can. He wonders if Jér can feel this, and desperately hopes that he can't. Hopes that the ward-heavy clothing they made him wear dimmed the bond enough to make it so Jér can't feel any of this, because it's excruciating. 

* * *

Phil's never gotten homesick this viscerally before. It feels like there's knots in a million places inside of him and he hurts in a way he can't explain. It's worse than a flu, worse than the misery of sore, aching muscles after a first physical therapy session. The way he's dealing with it is less than ideal. He can't call home, not yet; they'll be out preparing for the evening, and anyway he arranged to call later in the afternoon. So he dicks around on his phone, but nothing's holding his interest, really. His brain just feels slow and tired and fuzzy, and he kinda just wants to go back to sleep.

The door opens, and Phil looks up in surprise. "Back already? What happened?"

Jér grins, looking a little embarrassed, one of his earphones still in, laptop cradled in one hand. "Maman's upset with me."

"Really? Why?" Phil asks. 

Jér holds up his hand, one finger raised, unplugging his headphones, and walking over to Phil and nudging him until both of them can sit pressed together against the headboard of Phil's bed. His mother seems to be reaming him out for not including Phil on the call. Which, what?

"It's not a big deal; I told him Christmas is for family," Phil says, cutting off her diatribe. 

Jér's mother's mouth snaps shut, and she breathes in deeply, like she's gathering her patience, before she opens her mouth again. "Phil, I don't know what they do in New Brunswick, but in Québec, you're my son-in-law. I don't care what you told Jér; you should be on this call."

Why is Jér's mother calling him her son-in-law? Why does she sound so serious about it? How did Zach get her in on the joke?

Jér's mother picks that moment to turn to Jér, who does look ashamed. "What have you been telling your husband, that he felt he'd be intruding on a call at Christmas?" 

Jér starts mumbling an answer, cheeks and ears completely red, which is the part that confuses him. Because if it were a joke, Jér would be smirking right about now. And he knows Jér's mother, and she looks completely serious. Which would mean...

He can't do this right now. Phil shuts off his brain and speaks with Jér's family, but if you ask him about what they talked about, or what he said, he wouldn't be able to tell you anything. He doesn't even know how long they talk for. All he knows is that he's very carefully not looking at Jér, focusing on the screen, watching their faces in the little box instead.

* * *

When Phil wakes up, his head feels like cotton fuzz. Mattie and Dimitry look exhausted, tired to the bone. Alex looks like he's on the verge of passing out. Elena is here too, and she looks fresher than all the others. He'd passed out as soon as they'd told him he could, because manipulating his magic the way they had been had hurt him to the core. His muscles are sore, but when he looks at the forcefield, it looks worlds different than it had been. There's still tangles and eddies, but it's much clearer than he can ever remember it being. 

"'S'like water," Phil mumbles. 

"Phil, we don't speak French," Mattie says patiently, in English. Ew. Phil can speak English but it takes effort. 

"Like water," Phil says.

"That doesn't make any sense," Elena says, which is rude. Not that he'd ever tell her that. She scares him a little. Her and Alex maintain the arena's wards, and there's a lot of power in the arena's wards. 

"We opened his magic. He's going to be sleeping it off for a few days," Dimitry says. "Phil, you feeling okay?"

"Yeah," Phil says. "Fluffy." He's not sure whether it was in French or in English, but it doesn't matter, because they cut whatever ties they have left and break the circle, too. 

Mattie grins at him, tiredly. "We're sending you home with Claude. He has instructions on how to take care of you, and when you have to come in. We still have work to finish."

Dimitry and Alex help him get up. There are pins and needles in his arms and legs, and it's the most uncomfortable sensation. Phil is not ashamed of admitting that he stomps his feet a little, hoping to feel it less in his feet. They lead him to Claude that way, and the first thing Claude does is ask if he's drunk.

Phil lets the conversation flow over him. He doesn't like English much anyway. What he could do right now, and wants to do right now, is call Jér. He gets his phone from Mattie, and the first thing he notices is that he has a lot of missed calls. Most of them seem to be from Jér. Phil definitely needs to call him back. 

* * *

The second the call ends, Phil turns to face Jér, heart in his throat. "I'm your husband?" He asks, voice cracking a little because it's a lot of things he wanted and didn't think he'd have. 

"Oh. Yeah. You know this," Jér says, voice suddenly cautious. "Zach calls you my husband literally all the time."

"I thought he was joking," Phil says carefully. 

"No. Why would he be joking?" Jér asks, horrified. "Our bond is the equivalent of a common-law marriage, in Québec. Better than one, honestly. I thought you knew. Québec is binding."

"You wanted to be together forever, after we won the Cup. I thought it was pack," Phil says, his mouth dry. It's really weird to be having this conversation while they're sitting right next to each other. 

"Phil. Phil, it's Québec," Jér says, looking away, an indignant flush splashed across his face. "That ceremony--we did it skyclad--"

"So?" Phil asks, almost flippant. 

Jér's face makes an odd expression. "Phil, _Québec is binding_. Skyclad means things; it doesn't get used much here."

Oh. It looks like Phil asked almost as much of Jér as Jér did of him that night. "I didn't--once you cross basic magics, most strong New Brunswick magic has to be done skyclad, Jér. Or you have to be very good at negotiating." 

"Oh," Jér says finally, mouth twisting unhappily. "Well, Québec binds and we did it skyclad, so it pulled a bond, and for us it was marriage, because it's an exchange and it's what Québec thought we deserved. If that bothers you so much, we can break it or--"

"No," Phil says fiercely. "No, we are not breaking this. I just--didn't know, Jér." And that is his voice, shaking with what sounds like anger but isn't. He doesn't know if he's annoyed at himself for not realising, upset with Jér for thinking Phil would break it, or mad at Québec's magic for deciding that the two of them deserved a marriage. He was already miserable, and this, on top of it, is too much for him to process. 

Jér's face is trying to remain neutral, but is seconds from shattering, and Phil knows this, because Phil is his husband, Phil is bonded to him, for life and beyond. Phil knows Jér, and Phil is dealing with this so fucking badly. He's not the only one affected here, and unintentional as it is, he's being cruel. He breathes in, breathes out, and starts speaking, mostly even. "You cannot tell me that you are my husband now, when I've been so unfair to you for the last few months. Jér, I had no idea we were married. I've been a terrible husband."

"It's okay," Jér says gently.

"It's not," Phil snaps, voice breaking. "It's not okay, because you can't tell me, that just a handful of moments ago, you thought that I didn't want you. Didn't want this."

Silence. In for a penny, in for a pound. Phil opens his mouth, unsure of what's going to come out. "You're my favourite fucking person in the entire _world_ , Jér."

More silence. Phil is watching Jér from the corner of his eyes, because he doesn't think he can look right at him. He's been about as honest as he can stand to be, flayed open like this. Jér could break him right now, if he wanted to.

When he finally speaks, Jér's smile is a little shy, and he's flushed pink in the most appealing way. "You want me? This?"

Phil looks at him, face burning. His voice comes out a little rough. "Of course I want you. How could I not?"

He doesn't know which of them moves first, but they're kissing, surprisingly gentle. Phil's glad. He doesn't think he could take anything very emotional. He still feels a little burned out, still feels stretched thin with longing, but somehow, Jér makes it all feel better.

Phil breaks the kiss, but stays close enough for them to share breaths. "We have to talk about this, you know."

"I know," Jér says. "But I think we'll figure it out fine. You're my favourite person, too." 

* * *

"I want to see my husband," he can hear someone demanding in French, obviously anguished. "You've no right to keep me away from him!"

He thinks, blearily, that it would be nice to have someone who cares like that. He wants a husband. When Claude comes in, he'll tell him of his enlightenment towards marriage.

When Claude comes in, he looks frazzled. "There's one of your former teammates here to see you. Says he's your husband, of all things he could claim, and is persistent as hell."

"Who?" Phil asks. Someone's asking for him? He's the one with a husband who wants him?

"Lauzon, the older one," Claude says grumpily.

"Jér," Phil says, his insides flipping inside out and back. He really likes Jér, and he rushes to tell Claude exactly that, somehow ending up on a tangent about how soft his eyes are. Or his hair, Phil's not sure. They're both very soft. Jér is very soft and he makes Phil feel soft. Jér is the best.

"I'll let him in, I guess," Claude says, inching towards the door. Phil gets the impression that Claude doesn't understand, but that's okay. He wants to see Jér and he's pretty sure Claude understood that part.

Jérémy steps in hesitantly, but when he sees Phil, he speeds up. He waits for Claude to leave the room before he gently strokes Phil's cheek. "Phil, stop giving me a heart attack."

"Hi," Phil says, feeling very soft and overwhelmed. He reeeally likes Jér. "You are softer than a cloud."

Jér laughs but it sounds a little watery. "I'm sure that makes sense in your head, but it means nothing to me."

"You have a nice laugh. The best laugh," Phil tells him. "And you're so soft. I was trying to tell Claude all about how soft you are, but he didn't want to hear it. Or didn't understand."

Jér's eyes crinkle. "Thank you, mon beau. Now why don't you tell me how you're feeling?"

"I'm feeling a lot," Phil tells him.

Jér laughs at that again. He's got the best laugh and Phil loves him, and Phil is so lucky they're married. He gets to spend the rest of his life married to the best man. He gets to spend the rest of his life making him laugh, and Phil can't imagine anything better than that.

"Phil?" Jér asks. "Are you with me? I need you to tell me how you're feeling, body-wise, and what you remember."

Phil tells him everything he remembers. And then he reaches out to hold Jér's hand, and Jér's face gets even softer.

* * *

They both get selected for World Juniors. They put Phil, undrafted, with Thomas Chabot, drafted first round, wearing the A for Canada, trying to redeem himself from last year. Phil is grateful to be playing, but there's so many expectations heaped on them. He feels sorry for their leadership team, put under the pressure of redeeming themselves from last year's disappointing results and winning it in Canada.

He stops feeling sorry for them very, very quickly. Mat and Thomas and Dylan do this thing where they think they're being subtle, but are being about as subtle as a brick to the face. They keep having whispered conversations where they keep glancing at him, but more at Jér, and then abruptly going silent when Phil goes near them. Chabs may be a decent guy, but half the time during their conversations, he opens his mouth like he's going to say something, then shakes his head and closes it again. It's starting to get to Phil. Chabs is a good Q boy from Québec, and Jér still has visible magic, which means that likely as not, Chabs wants to know why there's New Brunswick on someone who is born-and-bred Québec.

The way he finally asks, or doesn't, goes like this:

"So, about your teammate..." Chabs starts. His voice is trying too hard to sound casual.

"Which one?" Phil asks, voice perfectly bland. He doesn't like being stared at; it reminds him of the summer and his mother and before that, the men and the women with the kind eyes but clinical gazes. Chabs has been doing an awful lot of staring. "I have twenty or so new ones, including you."

Chabs rolls his eyes. "Jeez, no need to sass me, you know I'm asking about Jér."

"Did I know?" Phil asks. He's being a bit of an asshole. It's whatever. It's for Jér. He knows that the two of them are obvious, that the two of them orbit around each other like they're binary stars, but he doesn't see why it matters to any of the others, when the two of them are here to play damn good hockey.

"He's got a twist of New Brunswick on him," Thomas says, looking serious for the first time all conversation.

Phil breathes in, holds, sighs it out. "Tell me something, Thomas. What do you know about how Rouyn structures its team?"

Thomas shrugs. "Like hockey teams usually are."

Phil rolls his eyes. What an idiot. Good thing Phil isn't planning to tell him the truth--he doesn't deserve it. "We're a pack. For better or for worse. And you know as well as I do what d-men are like. It is what it is."

Thomas blinks. "Oh. That makes sense."

Phil has him, hook, line, and sinker. Thomas should know better; he plays in New Brunswick, but Phil knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

* * *

Claude is sitting on a chair, straddling the back, chin resting on top, arms wrapped around, when Phil wakes up for good, head clear for the first time in days. "You were very out of it, the last few days."

"It's all a little fuzzy. My mother was here, I think," Phil says. "And Jér was here."

"Ah, yes. Your husband. Your husband Jérémy Lauzon, who plays in the NHL." He sounds faintly accusing.

"It's only legally binding in Québec, and it's the only marriage we're likely to get," Phil says, tired. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Did you know what you were doing?" Claude asks.

"Not exactly, at the time. We wanted to bind and Québec chose marriage for us. I didn't know it was a marriage till later but I wouldn't change it for anything," Phil says, the last part coming out sharper than he'd wanted them to. It's true, but it's not the kind of thing he wants anyone to be aware of if they're not Jér.

Claude looks faintly alarmed. "I wouldn't ask you to, I just wanted to make sure you were sure. The longer you leave it, the stronger it gets. The second you two were in the same room, it was all I could feel. Whoever did your concealment and misdirection was very, very good at it, but your binding is much stronger. It's fairly visible."

"Which means nothing to me. I have malleable magic, Claude, and his is visible," Phil says. "People are going to find out one day, concealment and misdirection charms aside. It's impossible that they will not."

"Oh," Claude says. Phil gets the impression that Claude pities him. "Well, he's waiting outside for you. Should I send him in?"

"Please," Phil begs, and doesn't even blush at Claude's teasing grin as he leaves.

Jér bounds straight in and beelines towards him. "I have been so worried about you. The bond cut out during tape review and everyone saw it. I think Patrice, at least, knows the truth now. He helped me get family leave to come see you--I only got your message later."

"Sorry for worrying you," Phil says, reaching out for Jér's wrist so he can press a kiss to the pulse point there.

Jér's face softens. "Never. I'm your husband; if I can't come see you when you're sick like this, then what good is that?"

"You get my undying love and devotion," Phil says, matter-of-fact.

To his delight, Jér turns adorably red, blinking, mouth slack, at a loss for words. When he recovers, it's with an attempt at a chirp, but his ears and cheeks are still red. "Smooth, aren't you?"

* * *

Phil reaches out to snag Jér's wrist and gently redirect him so he's sitting in Phil's lap, which Jér does, smiling a little.

Jér flushes slightly pink and looks over towards his family. Zach doesn't even pretend he's not laughing at them; the others, not as familiar with the two of them, are smiling, vaguely fond.

"Hi, husband-mine," Phil murmurs.

"You're such a sap," Jér says, as if he wouldn't have done the same. He's turning summer tan, his curls a little unruly. He's the best thing Phil's ever seen. "I love you."

"Love you too," Phil says, his cheeks hurting with his smile. 

Zach chooses that moment to yell over at them. "Stop shoving your spite marriage in our faces, Jér! It's not like we would've said no!"

"Spite marriage?" Phil repeats, in disbelief.

Zach is grinning almost maniacally and nodding, while Jér is hiding his face in Phil's shoulder, shoulders shaking slightly. "Don't tell me you didn't know?"

"I didn't," Phil says. 

Jér groans a little. "Oh, now you've set him off."

"I always forget how little you know about Québec," Zach says. "But you know, that thing you did? In olden days and honestly, probably up to today, couples used to elope and get it done, and use it as a foothold to get a real marriage. You were spiting your parents and everyone else, by not going the traditional marriage route, because you wouldn't be publishing banns or anything."

"Well, yeah, but it's still rude to call it that," Jér responds. "We didn't do it to spite you or anyone; we didn't know until after the fact, anyway. No eloping on our side."

"Guess it doesn't help that we didn't tell anyone for a while afterwards," Phil whispers to Jér. "It kinda is a spite marriage, on my side."

Jér's mouth pulls down on one side. "Are you sure you can't tell them?"

"Maman's always been weird about magic, and Québec. One day, though," Phil says. He still hates lying to his parents. 

"One day," Jér echoes, slinging an arm over Phil's shoulders, fingers slipping under the neck of Phil's shirt. 

"Spite marriage," Zach mock-whispers. 

Well. Phil has now learned that there's a crude way to refer to his marriage, courtesy of one Zachary Lauzon. As usual. What a fucking shit-disturber. On the other hand, he has a lapful of Jér, so he's still the winner in this situation.

* * *

Claude looks distinctly unimpressed to find Jér sleeping with Phil in Phil's bed, his arm like a band of iron over Phil's waist, breathing out slightly damp breaths against Phil's nape. "No shenanigans in the bed, I hope."

"I'm on IR," Phil says, just as unimpressed. "He looked exhausted."

"That would be because he has been worrying himself sick about you, I'll wager," Claude says, arms crossed over his chest. Phil gets the impression that Claude is trying to look intimidating, but he doesn't know why. He's also failing at it, because Phil can read the concern on him plain as day. 

"I'm not taking that bet. He says our bond cut out while he was in public," Phil says. It's the first time he's named out loud what it is that ties Jér and him together, to someone who he doesn't even know all that well, and there's a moment here, where his heart rate ramps up. He can't take it back now. Not that he would want to, of course. Jér is part and parcel the best parts of Phil, and he'd like for at least some people to know that.  

Claude sucks in a breath. "It was that bad?" He says, voice barely controlled. Whatever else people say about Claude, he takes the safety of his teammates seriously. Phil feels like there's a story here, but it's not one he knows. 

"Didn't they tell you?" Phil asks.

Claude shakes his head. "They told us you were on IR for magic related issues, and that someone needed to keep an eye on you, so Ryanne and I volunteered."

Well, if he can't tell Claude, who can he tell on his team? Phil takes a deep breath, moves an arm so he's holding Jér's hand. His husband may be asleep, but it makes him feel better. "My magic was tangled, New Brunswick and my mother and my father and being malleable. My magic attacked itself. Then it attacked me. And it would have gotten worse, because I didn't anchor myself or do any of a hundred other things that would make it better."

Jér's hand tightens around his own. Faking sleep, then. Phil owes him a thousand apologies, will probably spend half of the rest of their lives making up for this. Can't imagine what it would have been like, to be in Jér's shoes. 

Claude's face is unreadable. "Unbelievable. They let it get that bad?"

"I didn't disclose my magic at all, Claude." Phil admits. "If I had..." He trails off.

Claude's face smooths out and something almost like pity filters through his eyes. "Oh. Yeah, I can see why you'd prefer your privacy."

"You can't tell anyone," Phil says, shoulders tight.

"Jesus, kid, what do you take me for?" Claude asks. "It's a Québec thing anyway, how many people do you think would understand?"

And Claude--Claude has a point there. The League doesn't care for people who are different.

* * *

The thing is? The thing is, Phil doesn't know when he started to fall in love with Jér, because it's Jér, who he's always liked. Jér can be straight up vicious on the ice but is soft-spoken and responsible off of it, with a sense of humour that catches Phil off-guard because he's never expecting it. The two of them spend a lot of time together, because they were rookies together, even room together sometimes, and everything else aside, Phil loves watching Jér, because Jér is Québec through and through.

Jér is grinning at him right now. "All-Stars?"

"All-Stars," Phil agrees, grinning at him as the two of them bump fists. They probably look really stupid, but it's something their team is, unfortunately, quite used to. This tends to be a thing they get made fun of for, a little bit. Phil doesn't know what draws Jér to him, but he won't complain about it. He's okay with the jokes about their low-key level of codependency.

"You two do realise that there are two others going with you, right?" Zach asks, right on cue.

Jér makes a face at his brother. "Don't get too excited; it's just the rookie team."

"Still makes me an All-Star," Zach snipes back. "And if I don't count, then you still have Perron."

"Yes, but I like Phil better than both of you," Jér says, grinning. It's phrased like he's just teasing Zach, but there's a thread of sincerity to it.

Phil feels a flutter in his stomach, but knows better than to let it show. Instead he flutters his eyelashes. "Aw, mon beau, you're my favourite too."

Zach just looks between them in disgust. "Ugh. You're both ridiculous. I'm telling."

"Just admit that you're jealous that Jér likes me better than you, his flesh-and-blood sibling," Phil calls after him as he skates away.

Jér bumps into his shoulder, still grinning. "All-Stars."

Phil grins and tries to look down to hide it. He's Jér's favourite, and they're both going to be All-Stars. He can't wait. 

* * *

"You need an anchor," Jér says, voice firm. There is no room for argument here, not that Phil was going to. "Otherwise I'll worry myself sick over you, and you'll have the same problems all over again."

"I was thinking," Phil says, slowly. He has no idea how Jér is going to react, but he's going out on a limb and a prayer and a fair amount of faith. "The All-Star Break is almost here. How about we hop up to Québec, to Val d'Or, and do a vow renewal? I'd rather anchor myself to us than to anything else."

Jér doesn't say anything, and it feels like Phil's heart won't beat again until he does. Then he lunges forward, peppering Phil's face with kisses and dampness. Is he crying? "Okay, yes," Jér says. "You stupid, adorable idiot of a husband. You can't just spring this on me."

"I just--I love you," Phil says helplessly. "You're the rest of my life. I don't--I couldn't ever do anything else."

Jér is definitely crying, tears spilling down his face. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Isn't the point of it all that we deserve each other? We'd never be married otherwise," Phil says. "We'd be super-bros or something."

"Tabarnak," Jér says, sniffling slightly. It's a little weird that Phil finds that adorable, but it's his husband, he's allowed. 

Phil gathers Jér up in his arms, feels him shaking a little. "You, me, and Québec?"

"You, me, and Québec," Jér agrees. 

They're gonna be alright. More than. 

**Author's Note:**

> 1) would magic twisting onto its person cause injuries? yes. loss of consciousness is pretty severe for a first line symptom, because it isn't one. the thing that everyone knows but doesn't talk about? phil could've died. there's a scene that didn't make the cut here, about jér and phil's mother having an ice-cold conversation where he criticises her child-rearing methods. it's their first conversation after she finds out about their marriage. in jér's defence, he was fucking terrified. in phil's mother's defence, so was she. claude walks in, feels the frigid atmosphere and then walks right back out. why is it his rookie.  
> 2) there's a fic in-progress that's all about what their bond seems like to everyone else. i was torn between publishing this or that first. it's a lot of people going 'ah yes, two guys being bros, what could be better than that?' in their defence, québec is a little shit. all that misdirection placed over their bond is like an invisible forcefield saying 'don't look here.' sure, you may have chosen a marriage for them, but at least you're not all bad, eh?  
> 3) no consistent section lengths, we die like men.  
> 4) zach lauzon, shit disturber, is taken from my interactions with my younger brother. i love them both but trust them about as far as I can throw them, which is to say, not at all.  
> 5) i intended for this to read like you're unwrapping the world that they're in, but there are so many fucking details that are mentioned but never expanded on, which would probably explain parts of this fic better, like the fact that magic is mostly matrilineal. this fic was an adventure in implying things. i'm probably going to come back in a week and write in four new sections. can you believe this was originally just intended to be 3k of boys in love.  
> 6) i'm @aimeraiwrites at tumblr. feel free to talk to me <3 (this is also where i'll publish extras/primers for this 'verse)


End file.
